


Whatever the Mess You Are

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke needs a favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever the Mess You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'll just name all my "Clarke comes back after S2" fics after New Pornographers lyrics. That's a thing.

"Hey, I need your help."

Bellamy doesn't look up. It would make him feel childish, not looking at her, if he was doing it out of spite, but it's not that. He just can't deal with seeing her, because if he gets used to it and she leaves again, then it'll be like getting his heart ripped out all over again. It took him months to stop looking for her absently, to stop wondering if she was helping in the medical tent or meeting with the council. He can't do that again.

"I have watch in a couple hours," he says. "If you need a bodyguard, find Miller."

"I need a haircut."

He does look up at that, and it's overwhelming. He can't avoid seeing her, of course, just by chance, and every time he does it's the same crash of emotions, like being punched in the throat. A moment of shock, the inability to breathe; anger and happiness in equal measures, and then the small voice in his head reminding him it might not last.

If she'd come back for a reason, maybe it would be better. If she was warning them of something, he'd expect her to be gone as soon as the danger passed, he'd know what was happening. But she just wandered back in, and who's to say she won't wander out tomorrow?

"A haircut," he repeats. She flicks her braid over her shoulder and he can see how long it's gotten; it makes something twist in his gut. "Why do you think I can give you a haircut?"

"Octavia. She said you cut hers."

"I didn't know the two of you were discussing hair care." It comes out harsher than he meant, but she doesn't flinch. She just shrugs.

"She saw me braiding it and told me I should ask you. I was as surprised as you are."

He should say no, tell her to have her mother do it, or Raven, or anyone. But he's not that strong, so he stands and shoulders his gun. 

"It'll be easier if it's wet," he says. "Come on."

She follows him to the medical tent; there's always a fire there, and always water warming. He grabs a bowl and then pauses, not sure where to go.

"River," she says, and grabs soap.

There's a big rock that he and Miller and a few of the guards dragged over the water, a dry place to sit and wash clothing. She settles on it and goes for the soap, but he catches her hand. The contact is enough to make her jerk, blue eyes staring up at him in shock, and Bellamy's brain helpfully supplies him with the knowledge that this is the first time he's touched her since she kissed his cheek almost a year ago.

"I got it," he says, soft, and she nods.

He unties the string she's using to keep her braid in and cards his hands through her hair, slow, working it out. It's dirtier than he would have expected, all tangles and stray leaves and dirt.

"I didn't have soap," she murmurs, leaning into his touch. "I should have cut it off sooner, but--I didn't want to mess it up." He can hear the smile in her voice. "Kind of stupid, being vain about my hair when I was alone in the woods. And it looked so bad already."

"Put your head over the water," he says, and she does. He pours half the bowl on her and then lathers the soap in. He feels her hair getting smoother under his fingers, like magic. "God, you're a mess," he says, before he thinks better of it.

"I know," she says. "I'm sorry."

He rubs his fingers against her scalp instead of answering.

"I wanted to ask you to come with me," she says gradually. Her voice is slow and warm, like his hands in her hair might put her to sleep. "But it felt so selfish."

"You were already being selfish," he says. There's no point in just one of them being honest, after all.

She still doesn't flinch. "I didn't want to make you pick between me and them."

He wonders if he'd feel better, if she'd given him the choice. If she'd asked him to come, instead of asking him to take care of them. He wonders what he would have said.

"Well, you didn't," is what he says now. "I'm washing this out." He pours the rest of the water over her head, and she shakes her hair out like Octavia used to. It feels light, _fun_ , and it makes his heart constrict. "How short do you want it?"

"My shoulders," she says. "It gets kind of weird any shorter than that."

"You can't just say something like that and not follow-up." It comes out sounding fond, teasing, without his meaning to. Maybe he just can't help being fond of her.

"It kind of--poofs. It's not heavy enough to keep the curls down when it's shorter."

"You're tempting me here."

"Don't get your revenge with a bad haircut, Bellamy."

His hands freeze. "Revenge?"

"Not revenge," she says. And then, like she can't help it, "But I wish you'd do _something_. Or tell me what to do. I miss you."

"You left."

"I know." 

He makes the first cut, decisive. It feels satisfying, leaving a mark on her like this. He's changing her.

"You were the only one I wasn't leaving," she says, careful, as he keeps cutting. "The only one I didn't have to leave. I couldn't have--I couldn't deal with anyone but you. That's why I'm sorry."

"That's why?" 

"I can't apologize for going, Bellamy. I didn't know how to be here. I couldn't stay. But I knew you needed me, and I knew I could help, and I didn't try. I left anyway. That's why I'm sorry."

"Why did you come back?" he asks. Everyone asked, and he never heard an answer he liked. Not a satisfying one.

"Because I could. I came back as soon as I could."

"When are you leaving?" He doesn't mean to ask it, but it's worse not knowing.

"I'm not," she says, sounding strange. Not hurt or confused, not exactly. She sounds like she's working something out in her head. "You thought I was."

"I didn't know." He fluffs her hair, shaking the loose strands out of it. "Done," he says. "You can probably catch your reflection in the water, if you want to check it out."

Instead of responding, she tugs off her shirt and then her pants and jumps in the river. It happens too fast for Bellamy to even appreciate it.

"It's going to itch," she explains, grabbing her shirt and shaking it out over the water. Bellamy's still staring at her, and she raises her eyebrows. "It always itches until I wash it."

He can't help it; he starts laughing, like he can't remember laughing before. It's just so absurd. "God, Princess."

She bites her lip and looks down. "No one's called me that since I got back."

"How many other people have you stripped in front of?"

"I didn't know that was what did it." She dips under the water and Bellamy just watches her. He doesn't know why this makes her feel more real, but it does. It feels like she's staying. "Princesses strip?"

"You heard it here first." He toes off his shoes and rolls up his pants and dangles his feet in the water. "I was so fucking pissed at you," he says, casual. Somehow, it feels far away now.

"I know."

"I got it, but I was so fucking pissed. I couldn't have walked away. I wouldn't know where to go."

"I didn't know where to go either. I just couldn't be here."

"So where'd you end up, anyway?"

"Nowhere important," she says. He makes a face, and she smiles. "I'm not trying to be mysterious. It wasn't anywhere interesting. I found a bunker, stayed there for a while. Met up with some Grounders, traded some."

"Lexa?" he asks.

"I didn't see her, but I think she knew about me." She floats on her back, looking up at the clear sky. There's still a chill in the water, but she doesn't seem to mind. "Did she try to talk to you?"

"It's been quiet." He starts washing the scissors, just so he'll have something to do with his hands. "I miss you too."

"I'm not going anywhere," she says. "Not again."

"What about the next time--"

"Please don't say we're going to have to do something like that again. I know we might, but--don't say it." She turns over and swims back to the rock, settling by his feet. "I don't know what'll happen next time, but I can't lose you again."

"You didn't lose me. I was right here."

"I can't leave you, then."

"What, ever?" he asks, making a joke of it because he can feel want filling up his mouth, crowding words out.

She looks at him, steady, serious. Her hair is down to her shoulders, she's mostly naked, she's _here_. "Ever."

He swallows hard, reaches out to cup her face. She leans into it, and some tension that's been strung in him for years slowly eases. "I missed you," he tells her again. "So fucking much."

"Yeah." She pulls herself out of the water and sits next to him; he shrugs his jacket off and puts it over her shoulders.

"You'll catch cold," he says, gruff, and she leans against his shoulder, pulling the jacket snug around her. 

"Thanks for the haircut, Bellamy."

He kisses her hair. She smells like soap and herself, and he feels lighter than he ever has. "Welcome back."


End file.
